The Falau Files Box Set 1

by Mike Gomes

  “The Patient has a sense of entitlement fostered from the time of early childhood. Behavioral indiscretions have consistently been handled by the father, with a financial contribution to the school the patient attends. This is true for college, high school, and even grade school. His behavior is unpredictable. He lacks remorse for anything he has done. He is recommended for long-term residential treatment. Patient is refusing all medication and treatment. He is signing himself out of treatment, against all mental advice. Attempt for legal commitment via section 12 made, but declined by judge.”

  Falau disconnected the phone from the wires and placed all the items back in his backpack. Zipping it up and getting ready to walk out the door, Falau was sure of just one thing; that was Calvin Wise was a far more complicated man than anyone realized.

  Chapter 11

  For thirteen days Falau ducked in and out of doorways and kept a safe distance from Calvin Wise. Tracking his every move he started to learn the patterns the young killer followed, and was soon anticipating what Wise would do before he’d do it. Keeping precise data, he would trace out the patterns on a map and one glaring problem would rise up again and again. Calvin Wise never spent any time alone outside of his home, and what happened inside the home was unknown to Falau. If he were to successfully take Calvin Wise and get him back to the judges he was going to have to learn more about the inside of the Wise household.

  Keeping a low profile, Falau sat across the coffee shop watching Calvin Wise and his father have a donut and a cup of coffee. The coffee shop was not like the big chain stores, with thumping electronic music or plucky little acoustic guitars. This was a mom and pop shop that had retained its location in the financial district of Boston for decades. The ceiling was high with exposed pipes and visible rafters, and the tall glass walls were covered with pockmarks from kicked up stones and high winds over the many years since opening. The tables were small and uncomfortable, with wooden chairs that lacked any padding at all. Along one wall was a bar setup for counter eating that ran half the length of the store, while the other half held display cases with an assortment of donuts and bagels.

  Falau had taken the seat at the end of the bar so he could place his back against the wall. He had no fear of the Wise men seeing his face. With any luck, the next time Calvin would see him would be at the moment he was getting captured.

  Looking out the window he could see two large men sitting in a Lincoln town car parked on the side of the road. They kept glancing into the coffee shop and watching what Calvin and his father did. Before too long Calvin’s father raised a hand and waved to the men, who nodded back in response. Falau now knew that the men were working for Wise and had no problem showing people they were connected.

  Across the street two familiar people stood looking across at the coffee shop. One was a beautiful woman covered from head to toe in winter gear that far exceeded the temperature outside. She shivered often, and a grimace would crack across her face with the wind howling down the city streets. The man with her was far more casually dressed. He appeared to be a local, and used to the chill that Boston would deliver within its high winds coming off the water. He held a camera up to his face and was working its zoom back and forth. The camera was clearly professional, and its lens had high telephoto ability, evident by its size. These two had been watching Calvin Wise almost as long as Falau. If not for Falau taking the time to tail them back, he would not know they were reporters for the Boston Tribune online.

  The large men in the car kept a sharp eye on the reporters and seemed to hold for them a level of disdain. They would move the car backward and forward to break the line of sight for the photographer, even if it were just for a second or two. But it was far from any kind of chess match between the two sides, more of a ping-pong game between two people that had very little skill in the sport.

  Along with all the other patrons of the coffee shop, Falau’s head suddenly shot back to the table where Calvin and his father sat, as Calvin’s hand hit down hard upon the table and he said in a stern and unrelenting voice, “I am a man, and I will decide what I can and cannot do.” Reaching into his pocket he took out a few dollars and dropped them on the table. “I don’t need you to pay for me,” he barked.

  Calvin’s father glanced around the room, embarrassed by the scene his son had caused. Leaning forward across the table he spoke in a hushed tone, far too low for Falau to hear what he was saying. Calvin sat back in his chair and nodded, looking down at the ground. His hand reached out, picking up the money and placing it back in his pocket. The two men reached back and started to pull their jackets from the back of their chairs.

  Falau stood up and walked toward the door. Timing it just right, Calvin turned and bumped into him as he attempted to go past.

  “Watch out, asshole,” snipped Calvin giving Falau’s body a shove.

  Falau stood close, refusing to give an inch to the young man with the brash mouth.

  Calvin moved a step closer and looked up, trying to get eye-to-eye with Falau.

  “Are you deaf?” he snapped again.

  Calvin’s father moved in and attempted to split the two men up. As he pushed his hand in between them he told them to “Break it up.”

  Falau reached slightly forward and slid a small metal object into the thick fabric of Calvin’s coat. The object was only slightly larger than a sewing needle and with the same kind of sharp tip. It did its job perfectly, and Falau had flawless execution in the transfer.

  Calvin’s father turned his son around and pushed him toward the road and out onto the street.

  Falau had still not moved from the spot of the confrontation as the two men got into the car with the large men in suits and drove away.

  STOPPING THE VAN ONE street away from the Wise home, Falau steered up the street while inspecting the home from afar. The house sat back from the road approximately two-hundred yards. A large stone wall surrounded the property, and there were no trees on the lawn, making the approach to the house extremely difficult.

  Pulling out a pair of binoculars to get a better look, he focused on the first floor of the house. A window was open and exposed cabinets along the far wall. Like most homes, the kitchen was at the back of the property, and it was at ground level. Falau knew that if were to find any door unlocked it would be the slider a few feet down from the window he was looking through. Sliders never had self-locking mechanisms in them. It was his best opportunity to get in.

  A flash of brown crossed his view of sight, causing a double-take from the big man. He pulled his eyes away from the binoculars and saw several brown objects moving around the back-slider of the house.

  Refocusing the binoculars, he opened the field of vision to get a clearer view of the rear of the house.

  “Shit!” muttered Falau, realizing what the brown objects were. “Rottweilers!”

  Rubbing the sides of his forehead with his index finger and thumb he counted that there were five dogs, all left to their own devices on the lawn. Inspecting them Falau could see that they moved as a group, staying in a pack. If his timing was right he could attempt to avoid them altogether, but if they picked up his scent or heard him they would come as a group and there would be no way to fight them off.

  Opening the car door he stepped out onto the street dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt and an overcoat. Stepping onto the sidewalk he slowed his pace so he could take in as much as possible while crossing the street from the house.

  He placed in earbuds, as if listening to music, but in fact tuned the frequency to the small microphone he’d earlier slid into Calvin’s coat. However, locking in on the location showed no sound at all. Falau’s hands ran the receiver through a scan, but nothing connected. The microphone was rendered useless by either an electronic interference from the house, or the microphone was simply broken during Calvin’s travels. Regardless of what had happened, Falau was left with no more information than he already had.

  Focusing on the driveway, it resembled Tyler’s in m
any ways. It had a bend, and merged with the land leading up to a multi-car garage. A gate at the street boundary would need a special clearance code to get through. The gate looked strong and ready for any impact from a moving car. The wrought iron was ornate, but behind it lie sturdy steel bars.

  Walking past the drive the lawn opened up again there was no easy way to approach and get close to the house. The best plan seemed to be throwing caution to the wind and to make a hard move when he felt the time was right.

  Turning left at the end of the block Falau lost sight of the house. Going around the block and back to the car was the least obvious way to get there, and knowing that the guards that worked for the Wise family would look at every person and every car that went by made Falau uncomfortable. How good was their intelligence information? Did they use facial recognition? Were they linked into the state of federal government information systems? There’s no way to tell for sure, he thought.

  Arriving back at the car he sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine, staring at the house. The only way in would be to go over the wall and to take his chances getting past the dogs. There was just no other way, unless he attempted to go deep cover as a worker. Playing the scenario out in his head he knew that deep cover would mean daytime access into the house. It would mean conversations with people. Most importantly, it would mean limited chances to get Calvin alone and then remove him from the house. Falau figured there were just too many variables to negotiate to make a day time approach realistic.

  Pulling open his phone he clicked it to camera mode. Zooming in on the house he took several pictures. Using the binoculars, he helped the camera zoom in to get more detailed shots of the back of the house. Saving the pictures, he uploaded them to a special server that had been left open for him to store his data on. Falau assumed it was government, because Tyler said they were just ‘borrowing’ space on it.

  Walking alongside the main street next to the rock wall that bordered the Wise estate, he spotted two men wearing suits and moving at a quick pace.

  No jackets? Falau thought, holding his position to get a better look at the men. Must be guards who saw me walk by. Probably doing a grounds check.

  The men in the suits were tall, no shorter than six-feet and two-inches. Their shoulders were wide and were filled with muscle, and they appeared to have no neck due to their massive stature. Their suits were well tailored, and the closer they got it became visible that they had on earpieces.

  The men cut across the street and started to walk down the middle of the road straight toward Falau in the van. The big man reached down and placed his hand on the gear shift and edged it into drive, never taking his eyes off the two men. If he had to run them down to get away, he would, but it would be a last resort.

  While focusing on the two men the driver’s side door was suddenly yanked open and a handgun pressed tightly against his head.

  “If you move one muscle I will blow your brains all over this car.”

  Chapter 12

  The cold hard steel of the gun barrel had a chill to it as it pressed against his temple. The threat to blow his head off made it obvious these men were police or guards. Carjackers would just yank you to the ground and kick you in the face before stealing the car, and a pro sent to take him out would not have said a word. If he were lucky he would have heard the click before the bullet entered his head. But these guys came as a group and talked as if they were from a movie. Amateurs, in more ways than one.

  “I’m going to tell you what to do, and you’re going to do it,” commanded the man holding the gun. “Hands on the top of the steering wheel. Fingers spread apart. No movement, other than what I tell you. Do you understand me?”

  Keeping his eyes straight ahead and not so much as blinking, Falau responded to the man. “Crystal clear.” His hands slid up the sides of the steering wheel. His fingers spread apart. The two men in suits he’d been watching arrived at the front of the car.

  If I punch the gas right now can I get away? he wondered. I would have to run over the guys in front of me. The quick lurch from the car may get me three feet if I catch the trigger-man off guard. Running over the two guys in the road would slow me down. Even if it didn’t slow me down any person with an average shooting ability would be able to hit me before I get away.

  The plan was foolhardy at best, and at worse, suicide. The best plan at this time was to see what these guys had in mind and adjust to whatever the situation dictated.

  “Are you armed?” the man demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you carrying?”

  “9mm handgun.”

  A silence fell over the gunman, before he emitted a soft giggle. “I wonder if it’s the same one my wife carries.”

  Unable to help himself, Falau’s eyes rolled at the comment and the constant need to point out that his gun wasn’t the largest he could have.

  “It’s just for personal protection,” Falau remarked, holding back the sarcasm the best he could.

  “With your right hand reach down and put the car in park, then turn off the engine. Do it slowly and methodically. We don’t want any problems here.”

  Falau did as he was told. Applying the brake, he placed his hand on the shift located on the steering column and shoved it into park. Turning the engine off could prove to be a bit trickier. His hand would be obstructed behind the steering column and if the man with the gun got jumpy, he could shoot.

  “I’m going to turn it off now,” Falau said without turning his head.

  “What are you, some kind of smart ass? That’s what I told you! Just do it.”

  Falau followed the instructions to a T. He killed the engine and left the keys in the ignition. He placed his hand back on the top of the steering wheel and spread his fingers. The gunman had not moved the weapon so much as an inch. There was sure to be a pressure mark on his head when the gun was finally removed.

  “Reach across your body with your right hand and open the door from the outside. I’m going to step back, but don’t take the fact that my gun is not pressed to your head as a sign of weakness. I still have the intense desire to blow your head off. Now begin.”

  Falau reached across and opened the door, pushing it to its maximum. One leg found its way out onto the ground, soon followed by the next. Keeping his hands in front of him he turned in his seat and pulled himself from the car. It was then he got his first look at the gunman that was ready to end his life at the slightest wrong movement.

  The man was unimpressive. He was overweight with a bulbous stomach that hung over his pants, and was barely contained by a white buttoned up shirt. He was the kind of man who might wear suspenders and a belt at the same time. His head was predominantly bald and he used a sad looking comb-over of hair in a failed attempt to conceal it. His face was worn by time and his jowls hung like a basset hound’s around his double chin. His look was more of a butcher than a killer. His eyes were a tired brown that lacked the shine of a younger man, but they held an intensity that assured Falau the man was not kidding when he said he would kill him.

  The other men, three in total, dressed exactly the same as the gunman. On the sports jacket they all wore was a crest with the words, ‘Burnell Security’ beneath it.

  “Rent-a-cops,” Falau said, unable to hold back his feelings.

  “Rent-a-cops don’t carry guns. We’re private security. We have the power to arrest as citizens and defend the property of our boss. Trespassers will be punished accordingly.”

  “I’m just out here on the street. I don’t even know who your boss is.”

  The gunman walked closer to Falau, holding the gun steady and staring him in the eye. A smile crossed his face, giving Falau a sense that he was not as intense as he first thought. The gunman snapped the handgun hard across Falau’s jaw, dropping the big man to his knees. Pulling back his fist clutching the handgun, he slammed his fist down and used the butt of the gun to crack across Falau’s nose, breaking it in three places and causing a
rapid flow of blood.

  “You think I’m fucking with you boy?” barked the lead guard. “You don’t think I know you were at the coffee shop, following Calvin for days, then randomly just walked past the house? Do you think we’re fools?”

  Feeling his nasal passage filling with blood and not being able to focus through his watering eyes, Falau pulled his head back, bobbing in the air like a baby just moments after birth.

  Two of the large guards came over. One stood on each side of Falau and placed a hand under his arms, then helped him to a standing position. Their hands were rough and hard, not the kind of guys working security at a gate. They carried themselves like mercenaries Falau had seen in the past.

  “You press boys need to learn a lesson about what you can and cannot do. You have no idea who Mr. Wise is, and the power he wields. But you will. You are going to understand everything and make sure other people in the press understand and know their place. And if I see this appear as a story in the paper, then... well, I can promise you nobody will find your body.”

  The lead guard raised his hand high above his head, exposing the butt of the gun as Falau looked up, unable to defend himself against the oncoming assault. The markings on the bottom of the handle raced at him and cracked against his temple, causing his body to lose the last of its strength. Falau flopped like a rag doll, only stopped from falling to the ground by the hands of the guards that stood by his side. He hung like a slab of meat on a hook, unable even to try to get his feet under him.

  “Drop him!” commanded the leader.

  Falau’s body fell to the ground in a heap, his mind slipping rapidly in and out of consciousness and feelings of intense pain.

  The gunman held out his gun, taking aim at Falau’s head by staring down the barrel. His jaw tightened and his lips pursed as his finger drifted above the trigger, a whisker away from taking Falau’s life.